Higgins was at the nurses’ station at three thirty with a chart under his arm.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose before he said a word, and I had learned to wait through that.

“The swelling is down more than I expected.

She isn’t out of the woods, but she’s out of the worst of them.”

“What does she do?”

“She responds to touch.” He turned the chart so I could see the nursing notes.

“Your name got two squeezes of the left hand.